39.
“I suppose so.”
Diego nodded with a generous expression. Javier looked at him for a moment before turning his back and walking out of the tent.
Now, only Diego and Irene remained.
“Attending Physician?”
At Diego’s call, Irene, who had been staring only at the entrance, turned her head slowly. Diego signaled her with a smile in his eyes.
“Remove my clothes.”
“……Yes.”
Irene assumed the most perfect expression she could muster. A doctor removing a patient’s clothes was not exactly a momentous affair.
Halt.
Irene flinched as she reached out. Diego was sitting in a chair, and she was standing in front of him. It was not a comfortable angle for removing clothes.
After a moment of hesitation, Irene knelt on the ground. Only then was the height correct.
“…….”
Diego watched Irene’s actions with interested eyes. Just as she seemed to be looking down at her gloved hands, she reached out abruptly.
With as much vigor as someone getting into a brawl.
Diego, who had knitted his brows without realizing it, suddenly let out a laugh that sounded like escaping air. It was because the movements of her hands were surprisingly cautious for someone grabbing him by the collar.
A furrow appeared on Irene’s smooth forehead. The line that was just a crease at first deepened into a heavy groove. And Irene was still struggling with the first button.
It wasn’t because Diego was wearing only a silk shirt instead of his military uniform. Nor was it because the shirt buttons were exceptionally small. Though, one couldn’t say that wasn’t a factor at all.
Regardless, it was more because the loose fabric gloves were slipping over the buttons. Several attempts ended in failure, and Irene pressed her lips together even tighter.
Diego, his eyes softening soundlessly, spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Wouldn’t it be more comfortable to take off the gloves?”
“…….”
Halt.
Irene knew that, too. However, she could not simply take off her gloves. Irene made her seventh attempt, pretending not to have heard him.
Diego added in a sorrowful tone.
“If my fingers weren’t hurting, I wouldn’t have caused Miss Irene such trouble. I am truly regretful.”
Only then did Irene tilt her head slightly to look up at Diego. First, she was Physician Rios, then Attending Physician, and now she was Miss Irene.
It wasn’t an unusual situation, as Irene was a person with one name but many nicknames.
“Hmm?”
Their eyes met, and Diego raised one eyebrow with a smirk. He then raised both hands to shoulder height, like a soldier surrendering.
“The pain is quite severe, you see.”
“Shall I examine your finger pain first?”
“No. The shoulder is more urgent than the fingers. So, it would be best to hurry and remove the clothes.”
Irene looked down at her gloved hands again. She was Diego’s attending physician. She had a duty to check if Diego was in pain.
Wouldn’t it be better to just call Sir Miguel Flich?
Just as she lifted her head to voice the thought that had just occurred to her:
“I know that Miss Irene does not like to make contact with others. But think about it. It is only undoing buttons. Skin will not be touching skin.”
“…….”
Diego’s words were quite persuasive. Buttons were inanimate objects without body heat. There was nothing to fear.
Eventually, as if making up her mind, Irene nodded deeply. She hesitated for a moment, then took off her gloves.
And Diego, eyes narrowed, stared intently at the sight. The ecstatic spectacle of white gloves disappearing, and the white wrists revealed beyond them.
They were slender wrists that one would never imagine could break the ribs of a corpse with a saw and hammer.
Next, the back of her hands.
Past the small, smooth hands, the fingers Diego had been waiting for were finally revealed.
Long, slender fingers.
They were right there in front of him. Every time Irene’s fingers moved, Diego’s gaze followed them closely.
Ha.
Diego let out a languid breath. Suddenly, an impulse to grab those hands welled up.
Yes, that would be nice, too. To entwine his fingers between hers and kiss their tips. Or, it wouldn’t be bad to swallow them whole in one bite.
What would it feel like to gnaw at them with his front teeth? Would she scream in surprise? Or would she shatter her expressionless face and be flustered? Would those pale cheeks flush red then?
Just as Diego’s delusions were deepening:
Click.
Irene undid his button. The shirt, which had been buttoned to the very top, parted by a finger’s breadth.
Click.
Irene undid the second button. This time, it parted by the width of a finger.
Click.
She undid the third button. Diego’s chest was revealed through the parted collar.
“…….”
Each time, Irene’s gaze shifted a little lower. Diego glanced at the crown of her head before turning his eyes back to her fingers.
The sight of those long fingers undoing the buttons one by one triggered something deep within his gut. Greed, desire, lust—whatever name it went by, it was a dark mass coiled inside him.
“I’m insane.”
“Pardon?”
Irene looked up at him as if she hadn’t heard clearly. She seemed incredibly tense, as if undoing a mere button were a grand feat.
Her wide, round eyes captured Diego completely. Without anything else, only Diego.
He felt the pitch-black mass writhing and turning. It lifted its head, struggling to crawl out into the world.
As their eyes met, Diego shook his head slowly.
“It is nothing.”
“Yes.”
Irene focused on the buttons again. She stared intently at the buttons, determined not to cast her eyes on his exposed skin.
Soon, all the buttons were undone. As if waiting for this moment, Irene hastily pulled her hands back. In case she might accidentally touch his bare skin.
And she quickly put her gloves back on.
Tsk.
Diego clicked his tongue softly. His eyes, full of lingering attachment, stared persistently at her hands as they disappeared into the gloves.
He saw her chapped, rough knuckles. Diego, who had been watching the sight blankly, was brought back to his senses by Irene’s indifferent voice.
“Is it the right or the left?”
“What?”
“The shoulder that is in pain.”
“Ah.”
As if he had just remembered, Diego went, “Hmm,” and sank into thought.
“I believe it was the right.”
Irene, looking puzzled by his uncharacteristically vague answer, pulled back the collar of his shirt. She observed his shoulder intently, as if she intended to analyze every single pore.
There were no visible wounds, nor any bruising. She pressed her gloved finger gently against his shoulder.
“Are you in pain?”
“Physician Rios.”
Diego called her name in a low, resonant voice. His gaze, tilted to the side, was fixed on Irene’s hand.
Suddenly, Irene’s fingers flinched. She slowly took her hand off Diego’s shoulder. Diego’s gaze followed her gloved hand.
“Yes.”
“I have a question.”
“Please, speak.”
Irene’s two hands descended calmly to her sides. Diego’s gaze followed them.
“When Physician Rios slices open a corpse.”
Diego narrowed his eyes. As if recalling that very moment.
“You do not wear gloves then.”
He lifted his eyes and stared at Irene. Irene waited silently, facing him, for the rest of his words. Because Diego’s statement about having a question hadn’t ended with a question mark.
“…….”
However, Diego had no intention of adding anything more, and the silence between them grew as long as a winter night. Only then did Irene realize, belatedly, that perhaps that had been a question.
It was, unexpectedly, she who broke the silence.
“Slicing open a corpse, passing through the fascia, and removing organs one by one while avoiding blood vessels is a more delicate task than one might think.”
Diego watched her, propping his chin on one hand.
Irene, now certain that the previous sentence had indeed been a question, clenched her fist without realizing it. Somehow, she felt she had grown a little more.
To be able to understand a question without a question mark. The conceited sea anemone might even fall over in surprise if he knew.
“I know that. Because all other doctors perform procedures with their bare hands as well. What I am curious about is why Physician Rios uses her bare hands.”
“Because no matter how well-fitting the gloves are, they cannot be more delicate than bare hands. Furthermore, when the fabric absorbs blood, it becomes much heavier and duller.”
“Hmm.”
Diego stared into space with thoughtful eyes. It was not strange for doctors to operate with bare hands. No, not just doctors; barbers did the same.
However, the difference between them and Irene was whether or not they washed their hands afterward. Most doctors would walk around just as they were after surgery or dissection, but Irene would scrub her hands vigorously with soap.
Perhaps it was because she washed her hands too often, or because she washed them in cold water even in the dead of winter, that the backs of her hands were always red and chapped.
“And besides, they are already dead corpses.”
Corpses.
Then, a thought occurred to him, and he cast his gaze back to her.
“Didn’t you say you treated a soldier at the medical tent yesterday?”
Irene replied in an offhand manner.
“I merely stitched the wound of a soldier whose skin was torn. It is not a grand task.”
“With your bare hands?”
“…….”
Irene looked down at him for a moment. She could not fathom the intention behind the question. Irene nodded indifferently.
“Yes.”
“Hmm.”
Diego let out another long, low hum. The moment he thought his brow had furrowed, a displeased voice slipped through his teeth.
“They are not corpses, are they?”
“…….”
Feeling as if she had fallen into a logical contradiction, Irene pressed her lips together. But Diego had no intention of stopping the interrogation.
“Then why are you wearing gloves now?”
“……Pardon?”
There were often times when Irene did not understand the other’s intentions, but there were almost no cases where she could not answer such a clear question.
Yet, Irene was speechless for a moment.
“Hm?”
Diego looked up at her with a smirk. But for some reason, it did not look like a smile.
Perhaps it was Irene’s misconception. Because she was clumsy at reading other people’s emotions.
After all, if a curved expression with upturned lips wasn’t a smile, what was it?